


All systems down (relish every minute of it)

by tresshots



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Derek Has Issues, M/M, Stupidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 23:36:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3547910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tresshots/pseuds/tresshots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He could live without Stiles. Easily, too. It’s just that, lately, he wouldn’t want to."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All systems down (relish every minute of it)

**Author's Note:**

> Isn't it ironic that now when Hoechlin's pretty much leaving the show, I'm finally starting to write Sterek? Whatever. I'm gonna keep this ship alive if it's the last thing I do.
> 
> The title is from Imogen Heap's song The Walk which, for me, is about 5 minutes of pure Sterek perfection.
> 
> English isn't my first language, so there might be some weirdness with that. Oops. I'd greatly appreciate any feedback. Please enjoy!

It’s convenient.

It’s easy, that's what it is; when Derek is filled with the burning need to find a warm, willing body, someone who’ll be ready to scream and beg for him, he'll find Stiles. There’s always this incredible heat and smell, _god fuck the smell_ , all lust and filthiness and a warm hole to push himself into. It satisfies the wolf, ensures that when the heat in his belly boils over, when the instincts of his nature kick on too strong, he doesn’t have to go attacking innocent people on dark alleys. When the need to own and claw and rut and bite and _take_ sizzles his brains and guts and every fiber of his being, the only thing he has to do is climb up Stiles’ window and make him submit.

And how he does. It’s a mixture of pathetic and wonderful, how easily Stiles offers his body for Derek’s use. Sure, at the beginning it took a lot of coaxing, there was such an amount of sexual tension between them that it had made the whole pack completely crazy. But now it’s all softness, an unexpected amount of mind-blowing pleasure. That’s good; it’s all okay as long as it’s just something he occasionally amuses himself with.

So. A necessity. That’s what this is, Derek thinks as he pushes himself further into Stiles, the boy moaning his name in a constant stream. Something he could always walk away from.

He could live without Stiles. Easily, too. It’s just that, lately, he wouldn’t want to.

 

The pack knows about them, of course they do. None of them approve, but it’s not like Derek really cares what any of them thinks. Stiles remains quiet about the arrangement, only blushing whenever someone, usually Erica, makes a joke out of it at pack meetings. But it’s never more than a joke, so it’s all okay.

They all know who Stiles belongs to, now. And so does Stiles, so they all deal with it in their own ways.

 

The first time goes a little like this: they’ve spent the whole Saturday in the restored Hale house. Derek’s training his pack and Stiles has tagged along with Scott. It’s a hot, scorching day under the California sun, and everyone leaves with sweaty skin and tired, aching muscles.

Everyone except Stiles. When Derek goes back inside, he spots the boy passed out on the coach, a nap exceeding to dangerous levels. Derek is nice at first, he simply moves in for a cautious touch on the shoulder, but he’s surprised by Stiles grabbing his hand and pulling him over himself, and, well. The rest is history, as they say. Derek could only resist Stiles’ advances for so long.

He has Stiles’ cock in his mouth and hands buried in his hair, when the human finally reaches full consciousness; confused puppy eyes fluttering down at Derek, whispering all the time, ”Shit shit shit oh fuck.”

Derek only smirks and swallows him down completely; swallows the sputtering cum, too, with a new but not totally unexpected thirst. After Stiles gets over his dazedness, Derek whips himself out of his sinfully skin-tight jeans and jacks himself off on Stiles’ stomach, rejoicing in how the boy smells like covered in his scent.

Why not, he thinks with great amusement – it’s not like he’s planned for this, but it’s clear the boy wants him, and Derek could use some pressure relief. There wasn’t anything wrong with both of them getting something out of it, was there?

So he tucks himself back in his jeans and tells Stiles to get out of his house, climbs upstairs to his bed with a sleepy, satisfied grin.

The day after he tumbles inside Stiles’ window. The boy’s legs open invitingly enough. From that moment on he’s gotten to know the thrill of someone being wrapped completely over his little finger. And here’s the trick: it feels damn good.

 

Derek doesn’t know what it is, exactly, that makes the strange fire burn inside him time after time. It’s not an actual heat, werewolves don’t do that - _thank fuck_ \- but it’s definitely got something to do with the wolfy part of him. It’s as close to losing control as he ever actually comes. He would just be out in the woods, casually committing his morning jog, and suddenly it’d hit him like a punch to the stomach. He yearns.

So that’s the reason for why he finds himself in the strangest of places with his tongue pushed into Stiles’ mouth, Stiles’ legs wrapped around his waist. Derek takes what he wants, when he wants, and Stiles has zero problems with getting it on in public. Derek can sometimes smell the familiar scent of their coupling when he’s driving the Camaro; the last time, he’d parked in Beacon Hills’ most infamous kissing spot, and he’d fucked the boy right there, in full open view, Stiles’ desperate pleads and the absolutely filthy sounds of sex filling the air. Derek has made it a game for himself, how far he can coerce Stiles into going, how deep into pleasure and forgetfulness he can force them to surrender into.

 

Obviously, they don’t do dates. They have to be careful, what with Stiles’ dad being known by everyone in the town, so they never go where they can be recognized. Usually they stay at Derek’s, or in Stiles’ room when the Sheriff is away. They’ve done it in every single possible place imaginable by now, except for one.

They don’t have rules. They do kiss, and they do fuck, but there’s one line Derek doesn’t break, and that’s taking Stiles into his own bed. The couple of times Stiles has asked, he’d gotten such a furious rejection that he’d given up on that thought quite early on, and now they both know that’s not on the table, never will be.

Derek doesn’t want the smell of Stiles on his bed. He doesn’t want to curl up on his sheets and be able to tell Stiles’ been there. Tells himself it is because he would be completely disgusted by the thought. But he knows better: he can’t grow accustomed. This is only temporary, this little fling of theirs, and he doesn’t want any permanent memories of it when it will be over. Because it will be over, once Stiles grows up and goes away and leaves Derek, just like everyone else does, or he will meet someone any second now and leave Derek because he’s found something much better, and it’s all fine.

Derek doesn’t mind. He knows he’s not something people want to keep. He’s good at filling holes, sometimes literally, he’s good at being a filthy little secret but little of anything else. And it’s alright, it’s not like Derek wants anything else from his life, from Stiles.

It’s only when the nights grow dark and lonely, he sometimes curls up next to some shirt Stiles left at his place, and he wants to fucking scream for how big of a goddamn liar he really fucking is.

 

At one point, Stiles tries to break it off.

”Look, I,” he starts, heartbeat rabbiting off in a furious note. He swallows a couple of times, finally letting the thundering words out of his mouth. ”I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Derek’s not stupid. He doesn’t need to ask for clarifications. It’s not like this comes as a huge surprise. But what is kind of frightening, is the white-hot whip of anger he feels at Stiles’ words.

”No”, Derek snarls, stepping right into the boy’s personal space.

Stiles won’t meet his eyes. ”It’s not like – like – ” he seems to be at a surprising lack of fluidity, ”like we’re _dating_ anyway, so. There’s just, last week Jackson and Lydia had this huge, _huge_ fight, and I think Lydia kind of asked me out, can you imagine - ”

”No,” Derek snarls again, his voice a barely containing all of the wrath he’s suddenly feeling.

“What do you mean no,” Stiles’ mouth is a thin line, nervous sweat breaking down, completely traceable on the air.

“What do you think I mean?” Derek pushes Stiles down to the bed, surges in right after, and cages Stiles against the mattress with his body. “Do you think she actually wants you? Jackson and her are a forever kind of a thing, and she knows it. You know it, too.”

“Whatever, man. I don’t mind being a tool of revenge for her,” Stiles tries to fake nonchalance, but Derek can smell salt.

“You can be so much more, though,” Derek says before he can fucking _think_.

Stiles’ mouth opens in surprise.

“For someone. Someday. But Lydia doesn’t really even give a fuck about you, so,” Derek bites at Stiles’ neck, is careful with his teeth, but still.

Stiles nods. “Yeah, okay,” he says out of breath. Derek is satisfied, grinds against him, makes a quick job of undressing them both. It’s only when they’re both coming that he notices Stiles has somehow found his hand at some point, has curled their fingers together in a tender grip, and he knows he’s fucked up.

 

It’s all fun and games, until it’s not. It doesn’t matter how careful they’ve been, the Sheriff finds out. Stiles comes to Derek afterwards, eyes pulled tight with tension.

“Fuck me,” Stiles demands, already getting undressed. Derek looks at him, shrugs.

“Fine.”

Derek licks at Stiles’ ass, pushes his tongue in as deep as he can, and Stiles is moaning and whining. “Come on, I’m ready,” he pants after a while, and who is Derek to deny him?

Derek lubes himself up. Stiles tries to turn, but Derek pushes him back. “Stay,” he grumbles. “You wanna be my bitch, I’ll take you like one.” Derek can smell the spurt of precum dripping down Stiles’ cock.

He fucks Stiles hard and fast, pistoning in and out like he’s punishing them both. Which is probably true on some level, but Derek won’t touch that thought with a ten foot pole, so he clears his brain out and concentrates on the way Stiles wriggles beneath him.

“Stop fucking around, Derek,” Stiles commands. “I’m not gonna break.”

“If you’re sure,” Derek challenges. He grips at Stiles’ wrists, starts really using his hips, hammering his cock inside Stiles’ ass. Stiles comes untouched. The sounds he makes are enough to make Derek come, too.

Derek lets go of Stiles’ hands. He lets the boy gather his breath, and presses kisses down Stiles’ back. Slides all the way down, eats his own cum out Stiles’ ass and feeds it back to his mouth. The boy drinks it greedily. Derek lets him stay the night.

They don’t talk about the Sheriff again, but Stiles doesn’t stop visiting Derek, so he figures it’s all fixed. He doesn’t really care, as long as he gets to fuck Stiles. Or that’s what he tells himself every night when he holds Stiles in his arms.

 

It’s Derek’s birthday. He has banned the whole pack from visiting him today, but hasn’t told them the reason. Stiles, naturally, defies him.

Derek hasn’t showered in three days. He’s sitting in the kitchen with no light on, when he hears the door being opened and then closed. He should’ve never given Stiles the spare key.

Derek doesn’t bother getting up. This is his home, he’s got the right to sulk whenever he wants to.

Stiles comes to the kitchen, turns the light on. “Whatcha doing?”

“Get lost,” Derek replies.

“No need to get all defensive on me,” Stiles chuckles.

And then Stiles notices the cupcake on the table. “So, we are… staring at pastry. Because that’s what we’re doing, these days.”

Derek doesn't answer.

“What are we celebrating?” Stiles tries. It’s clearly a joke, but Derek doesn’t find it terribly funny. Stiles notices. “ _Are_ we celebrating something?”

“Pretty much the opposite,” Derek mumbles. So he’s filled with self-loathing, big deal.

“Alright. I have no clue what’s going on here, but I’m in. You got one for me?” Stiles asks, sits beside him.

“No.”

“Then you’ll have to share,” Stiles says cheerily, and reaches toward the cupcake. Derek intervenes immediately.

“Don’t even try,” he growls. Stiles looks up at him with huge, round eyes.

Sometimes Derek wishes Stiles weren’t so fucking smart. It would hurt a lot less in moments like this. “Derek. Do you… have a birthday?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” Derek sneers. “Look, just – just go.”

“Uh, no way, I mean,” Stiles chews at his lips. “You want some company?” he offers.

Derek is not in the mood, so he stays silent. Just keeps staring at the cupcake, and counts Stiles’ heartbeats. Stiles is getting anxious, he can tell, but he remains in his chair and doesn’t try to start a conversation. Derek appreciates it at first, but suddenly he’s filled with the need to do something, _anything_ to avoid the silence.

“There used to be big parties.”

“What?”

“When they still,” Derek grumbles. It’s to hard to get the words out, but he does it, somehow. ”When my family. We had birthday parties.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles hums. He doesn’t say he’s sorry, or anything at all. He only slips his fingers through Derek’s and doesn’t let go until the morning light is flowing in through the windows.

 

There’s a vampire in Beacon Hills. They track it and find it. Derek gets heavily hurt, there’s venom in his veins and it needs to be drained out. Scott drops him off to the hospital to his mom, goes to destroy the remains of the bloodsucker.

Stiles comes to see him in a few hours. Knocks on the door, steps in. “Hi.”

“What’ve you got?” Derek asks suspiciously, hackles rising.

“Um, what?” Stiles blushes prettily.

“What’s the smell?”

“Oh! Oh, the _smell_ , yeah, completely forgot about that, _fuck_ ,” Derek is completely sure he’s not meant to hear the profanity. “I just,” Stiles takes his left hand from behind his back where he’d been hiding it.

“Flowers,” Derek deadpans.

“Yeah. Flowers,” Stiles mumbles, so fucking out of his comfort zone that Derek feels bad for him.

Bad, and also puzzled on his own behalf. Because what the hell is going on.

“So, are you okay?” Stiles steps closer to the bed, right next to Derek, flailing the flowers around.

Derek is immediately disgusted. “Can you please get them out of my face, I want to puke,” Derek commands. They’re already making his eyes water.

Stiles freezes. “Oh,” he chuckles softly, scent filling with embarrassment and shame. “Yeah, okay, this was – I was stupid anyway.”

Derek just can’t stop staring at him. “Who’re they for?”

Stiles’ smile drops. “I’m,” he starts, “my neighbor? The little old lady Hartman just got into a car crash, so, yeah, these are totally for her. _Totally_.”

Derek can hear that it’s not a lie, exactly, but it’s not the truth, either. He he has no idea what’s going on, what the hell is Stiles doing with the flowers, what the hell is he doing here _at all_ –

“I should go,” Stiles takes a few fumbling steps back, “y’know, make sure she gets these and all that jazz.” His grip on the flowers is so tight Derek can smell blood.

“Okay,” Derek nods. Doesn’t know what else to say.

Stiles looks unhappy when he walks out of the room.

Derek gets out of the hospital the very same evening, Melissa scolding him slightly. She tells him to take it easy, and Derek objects, appealing to werewolf healing. Melissa looks at him dead in the eyes and says: “I know you’re the big bad wolf man, but you really need to let go sometimes, okay? Let the pack take care of you. Just for a while.”

It doesn’t make Derek feel bad, at all.

He puts on his clothes, feeling more like himself already, more sure about everything, and walks straight out of the room. Gets downstairs and stops to buy a coffee from the shitty automat near the exit. There’s a trash can next to the automat, and Derek smells the familiar scent. The flower bush looks like someone’s put it through a chainsaw massacre.

He’s more confused than ever before as he drives away.

 

To be quite honest, Derek is a little bit scared of Lydia. He’s not the only one in the pack to do so, and he knows it, so it’s okay. But the thing is that even though the whole pack has become a lot closer during the past months, Lydia is pretty much the only person Derek doesn’t have anything in common with. Even Allison had, even though at the beginning a bit reluctantly, offered her assistance with planning the training sessions. Soon Derek had found himself fawning over the huntress just like everybody else. But Lydia and him, they don’t really talk. It’s not that they don’t get along, they just – don’t talk.

They’re having a movie night at his house, and Stiles spends the whole movie dozing against Derek’s shoulder. Derek doesn’t mind the slight wane of drool dripping on his Henley, he’s grown used to it. A thought which should itself scare him a bit, but whatever, Derek’s always been pretty good at accommodating.

After the movie, however, the pack stirs and starts taking off with sleepy eyes and yawns. Derek turns his head, looks down at Stiles’ impossible eyelashes, his cute upturned nose, smiles a bit. Wonders how Stiles lets himself be this vulnerable in Derek’s presence. He puts his hand on Stiles’ cheek, cups it carefully, and whispers at him. Stiles wakes up, all flailing limbs and a sleep warm mouth, and he looks at Derek with a happy little smile on his face, looking completely content. Before Derek can pull away, Stiles gives him a quick kiss.

It’s not a long one by any means, just dry, chapped lips pressed against each other. Stiles hops up and jumps on Scott’s back, and bothers Allison about her messy hair, and Derek – he can’t suddenly breathe. Looks at the flailing boy, a churning pit of something boiling in the bottom of his stomach, and that’s when Lydia attacks.

All Derek sees is a curl of strawberry blonde hair on his face, smells the fine, overly expensive perfume Lydia uses, and there’s a whisper in his ear, delivered with such determination Derek can’t help but pay immediate attention.

“If you hurt him, I’ll hurt you back.” Lydia pulls away, looks at Derek menacingly.

Derek doesn’t try to pull the _I don’t know what you’re talking about_ card. He’s not going to play dumb with Lydia; he’s seen others try that, and it has never ended well for them. So instead he just fixes a cool stare at her, curls his lips in a sneer. “Like I could.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Lydia snaps. “You think we don’t know what’s going on? Think we haven’t seen, the others haven’t _smelled_?”

“I don’t care what you think.”

“Well that’s too bad, because you’re going to listen to me very carefully. I’m not entirely sure what’s this got in for you, even though I have my own theories, but Stiles? He is completely gone on you. I should know, I’m an expert on Stiles’ affection.” Lydia tosses her hair over her shoulder.

Derek pinches his claws through his palm to remind himself not to get fucking angry at the reminder that Stiles wasn’t his, first.

“So I would greatly suggest for you to be a good boy and not do anything that pains him.”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

There’s a flash of something – regret? surprise? – in Lydia’s eyes, but it’s quick and fleeting, and the steel comes back like a fucking mask. “I’m not here to talk about me and Stiles,” Lydia informs. She looks at Derek for a while, like she’s trying to drill through his head. “Don’t make him cry. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“You should go,” Derek says, feeling so fucking uncomfortable at having to take part in this conversation.

“Derek.”

“What?”

Lydia fixes him a glare that could melt the bones of a trillion true alphas.

“Fine,” Derek lets out between gritted teeth. He knows full well he’s making a promise right now, one he’s going to have to keep unless he wants Lydia to fucking slaughter him, but somehow it feels – right. That one word comes out way easier than he’d thought it would.

“Good,” Lydia nods with a satisfied gleam. She’s won and she knows it. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she chirps, turns around on her 300-dollar shoes and walks away.

Derek watches her go; holds on to his pride until he’s sure the door is closed. Then he buries his hands in his hair and wonders, not for the first or the last time, what the hell he is even doing with his life anymore.

 

For some reason Derek can’t fathom for his life, there are fairies in Beacon Hills. They haven’t taken after Tinkerbell, nope; instead they’re more like fucking vicious, incredibly pretty little piranhas with the ability to fly.

Stiles is an idiot and therefore he gets hurt. When the fight is over, the pack scatters away to lick at their wounds. Derek and Scott get rid of the fairies’ nest, and Derek is tired to his bones when he drives Stiles home and lays him on the bed.

”Come here,” Stiles calls, his voice a soft, rough whisper. He looks absolutely beaten, skin still marred with little teeth marks.

Derek thinks about leaving. It would hurt, what with his right leg being broken in half, but it’s healing rapidly and he could do it. ”Are you fucking stupid?” he grumbles, eyes glowing red in annoyance.

Stiles curls up on himself. Derek can smell the sadness in the air, the scent of being rejected and self-loathing and none of this makes any sense. It was never supposed to be like this.

”Go, then,” Stiles says, defeated.

Stiles closes his eyes. Derek can tell he’s probably about to cry. He doesn’t want to be here for that, he’s not made for this. He simply doesn’t do feelings anymore. So he stops staring at Stiles, turns around and gets out. He’s only doing what’s best for them both.

 

It’s time for post-full moon pack bonding, so they’re having a bonfire in the woods. Boyd makes s’mores for them all, and Allison’s brought hot cocoa. Everyone’s happy and Derek looks at his makeshift pack, these weird souls he’s surrounded himself with. They’re not his family and they will never replace what he once had, but he thinks that in time, he could find his place in this world. If not for himself, then he’ll do it for them.

Stiles has managed to smuggle a bottle of Jack from his dad. He’s dangling it in front of Jackson, who has taken the fact that he’s not capable of getting drunk anymore harder than the other bitten wolves. Stiles makes fun of it best he can, but then Jackson smirks at him and pulls Lydia in his lap, and Stiles quietens very quickly.

They make jokes and Erica coerces Derek into telling them about old werewolf legends. It hits 4AM and the group passes out one after one, human and wolf members alike, limbs getting lazy with inhaling the warm midsummer night.

Stiles is drunk. He keeps shooting looks at Lydia and Jackson with something like longing in his eyes. Everybody falls asleep, and then it’s just Derek and Stiles left.

Stiles scrambles up on his feet, tries to kiss Derek.

“I don’t love you,” Derek says.

Stiles stills, gives Derek a searching look. “That’s good,” he says, “I don’t love you either.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Now that that’s out of the way, can we finally make out?” he asks.

They do. 

 

There’s no way Derek would ever admit it out loud, but he and Stiles make a great team. Derek’s the muscle and as much as it pains him, Stiles’ the brilliant, shiny brain. He’s so quick to understand and connect given information, and he resolves most of the pack’s problems in no time at all. The most dazzling thing about Stiles is that he does it willingly. At first Derek thought he’d have to rely on his fangs and claws to get Stiles do research or generally work alongside him, but no. Stiles is a protector, and even though he may not look threatening, if anybody lays a finger upon someone Stiles cares about, they will fucking feel it in their bones.

Sometimes Derek plays with the thought of asking Stiles to be his emissary. He knows he’ll never do it, just because he doesn’t think he could bear the rejection, but it’s a nice daydream. The Hale pack could rise to the glory they’d always held, and it’s something Derek wants. But he won’t try to tie Stiles into himself, and that’s why he keeps Stiles out of the pack business as much as he can. Stiles gets mad about it and blames Derek for not wanting him around. " _I know I'm just human but I do have a place in this pack just like everyone else, Derek, god you're so stupid_ ," he screams, clearly frustrated and humiliated. Derek lets him believe those are the reasons. It’s much easier than any other option around.

 

They’re about to have another pack meeting at Derek’s, and he goes grocery shopping with Stiles. So of course it’s only a given they’d run into the Sheriff.

“Stiles,” his voice carries down the aisle. Stiles turns and his heart goes wild.

The Sheriff walks up to them.

“Dad,” Stiles looks like a deer caught in headlights. Which is actually pretty appropriate, considering his striking resemblance with Bambi, Derek muses.

John stares at Derek. “Hale,” he says.

“Sir,” Derek nods. For some reason a rap song starts echoing around in his mind, something Erica’s listened to. ‘Keep my calm, keep my cool… keep my calm, keep my cool,’ is what he repeats to himself, and it’s not pathetic at all, he just happens to value his life somewhat.

“You hosting a party?” John nods at Derek’s cart, filled with food.

“Yeah, and we’re in a hurry, so we gotta go,” Stiles says, tugs at Derek’s sleeve. “Bye!”

“Not so fast, son,” John grunts.

“Yes, dad?”

“So, Hale. How come I’ve never seen you around, what with you two being – “ John motions between him and Stiles, “whatever that is called, Stiles has luckily spared me from the details.”

“Uh, I,” Derek’s brain is empty, absolutely _empty_. He must’ve been fucking his brother in a previous life or something equally gross to be deserving this.

Challenge and authority fill John’s whole being. “Sunday. 7PM, sharp. I think it’s time we had a little talk.”

“Dad, please,” Stiles’ eyes are as big as plates.

“I’ll be there, Sir,” Derek says. He doesn’t know what else to do.

“I know werewolves can’t get sick, so you better be,” the Sheriff nods. He wishes them a good evening and reminds Stiles to come home for night, “ _for once_ ”, he adds, shooting Derek a nasty look, and leaves.

Stiles looks at Derek in pure despair. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he grimaces. “Look, I’ll make an excuse for you – maybe you just gotta die, that’s it.”

“It’s okay,” Derek grits. He continues going through the shopping list.

“Did you hear him?”

“I said it’s okay.”

“But – “

“Stiles,” Derek says. “Get the Poptarts or Erica will murder you.”

Stiles looks at him like he’s gone crazy. “Fine,” he says slowly and goes fetch the Poptarts. Derek closes his eyes and counts to ten.

 

On Sunday Derek shaves and puts on his nice jeans and a blue dress shirt. He writes his last will down on paper and gets in the car when the clock strikes 6:45.

The dinner goes unexpectedly well. At first there’s so much tension in the air that Derek thinks he’s going to choke on it, but then the Sheriff starts talking about baseball and they hit it off. Clumsily, maybe, but it’s still better than what he’d had in mind.

At one point the Sheriff asks to call him John, and Derek is a little bit proud of himself. Even more once John says he’s been thinking about recruiting some supernatural help to the station, and if Derek’s interested, something could be arranged. Derek is, and he says so. Stiles looks like he’s been hit with a shotgun.

Derek leaves at 9, not wanting to overstay his welcome. Stiles walks him to his car.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” Stiles mumbles, picking at his sleeves.

“I know,” Derek says. He knows he could’ve just left Stiles to trouble, but he’s not really in the mood of having to start avoiding the Sheriff like he’s a fugitive again. And that’s his only motivation for tonight, of course.

“Seriously. I’m forever in your debt.”

“I guess a blowjob will do.”

“Now?” Stiles is already looking at Derek’s crotch, his fingers twitching.

“I think your dad’s watching,” Derek says. He can hear John nearby.

“Sucks,” Stiles says. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” Derek says. He kisses Stiles on the lips, because why the hell not, and drives away. Tries not to think about why he likes making Stiles happy. Fails.

 

Stiles gets attacked by a succubus. Not in a nice, orgasmic way either. The bastard tries to rip out his internal organs and very nearly succeeds, too.

Derek goes ballistic.  He bites at the succubus until there’s nothing left to recognize about the creature, and then he gathers Stiles in his arms and takes him to Deaton. Deaton works on Stiles for four hours, and Melissa badges him up and tells Derek to take care of him.

Derek drives Stiles home in silence. He helps Stiles brush his teeth and get under the covers.

He thinks about leaving, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, but the wolf in his chest is pawing at him to _please_ make sure Stiles is okay, that he’s not in danger anymore. Derek settles for a compromise. “Do you need anything?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, “You,” he continues.

“Are you high on painkillers?” Derek tries to make a joke out of it.

Stiles turns to stare at him. “No.”

They keep looking at each other. “That’s not what this is,” Derek says, quietly.

“Don’t I know it,” Stiles says bitterly. “Whatever.”

Derek nods and takes a step towards the window. He’s going crazy, there’s the wolf yapping at him to take care of his packmate, and then there’s the part of him that has been disappointed and betrayed by people too many times before, and he doesn’t know which side he should listen to. He nearly laughs out loud at his own cowardice. Is he scared, now, just because Stiles is asking him to stay? Just because the boy who’s gotten his stomach practically ripped open tonight, who got hurt because of Derek, _for_ Derek, is in need of whatever little support Derek could offer him?

Derek can suddenly remember his mother’s face when she was lecturing him about mates. It was the only time he’d ever spoken to his mother about love, and he’d gotten the strict advice, ”When you find them, you’ll know. And then you better make sure you do all you can to make them happy, okay?”

Derek had blushed and a month after that he’d met Kate, and it’s all gone to hell ever after, just wandering around in this great big _nothingness_ , and then he lost Laura, too, and now he’s turning into the fucking monster he’d never thought he could know how to be.

He’s been using Stiles, Derek realizes for the very first time. He’s been using Stiles, just like Kate had used him. Sure, he’s not an actual psycho and planning on burning Stiles’ family alive, but the thought’s the same – he takes what he wants and cares about nothing or nobody else.

God. What the fuck is he doing?

He must’ve let out some kind of a noise, for Stiles looks up at him. ”Are you okay?”

”Fine,” he hurries to screech out. Fuck, even now Stiles fucking cares about his feelings. ”I’m fine.”

”You don’t really look like it.”

”I just,” Derek starts. Stops right away. _Can I stay_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he’s not going to do that anymore. He’s going to actually, for _once_ , let Stiles make the call.

”Do you want me gone?” he asks, pronouncing each word carefully.

Stiles blinks. ”You can stay. If you wanna.” He tries to play it cool, and it would actually be pretty believable – if only Derek weren’t a werewolf and couldn’t hear the furious beating of his heart.

“But do you want me to?”

”What’s this about?”

”Look, yes or no?” Derek is tired of games. Even if he’s the one who started them.

”It’s not like you’ve ever been interested in my opinions before, so,” Stiles snaps. He’s looking quite annoyed now.

_I’ve ruined it,_ Derek thinks. _Of course I have._

”Look, I don’t,” Stiles eases up on him, for one reason or another. ”I don’t know what the fuck is up with you tonight, and I don’t really even - sorry, but not sorry, no, you know what, today I was almost cut to fucking half, so right now? I just want to not be alone.” Stiles takes a deep breath, looking flustered and so out of place, it’s not like him at all, and that alone is enough to keep Derek still. ”I’m human and I’m weak and I just, it would be nice to not for once have you running away from me, but obviously we’re not doing that, so - ”

”I’m not running away,” Derek interrupts, because he needs – god, he needs Stiles to work with him on this. He can’t do this all alone, he can’t do anything alone. Maybe, just _maybe_ , he doesn’t even want to, anymore.

”Yes, you are. Look, dude, I’m sorry but yes you really fucking are. And it’s okay, I know it’s not - we’re not how I wanted us to be, but I can’t, I actually can’t fucking handle this anymore. I’m tired and, like, _literally_ broken, and,” Stiles sighs deeply, ”if you leave now, then please don’t come back. Ever again.”

Derek nods jerkily. He can’t feel his toes. ”What do you want?”

”What?”

”You said you wanted something,” Derek forces out of his mouth. ”What’s that?”

“Does it really even matter?”

”Yes.” His tone is clipped.

Stiles looks surprised at the answer. His eyes narrow in suspicion. ”Well,” he says slowly. ”No, Derek. I don’t want you to go.”

Derek lets out a breath he wasn’t even aware of holding in. ”Okay.” He nods and starts to strip.

Stiles has always teased him about his expressive eyebrows, but it’s not like Stiles has anything to bargain with, what with his own trying to climb off his forehead and fly to the freedom.

”Do you honestly expect for me to be up for it tonight,” Stiles whines, even when his eyes are making a hungry journey towards Derek’s crotch.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” Derek says, feeling more bare for the words than his actual nakedness.

Stiles wets his lips, looks at Derek as if he’s a wild horse to observe, every movement unpredictable. Derek closes his eyes for a second, prays his presence will be welcomed, and slips next to Stiles on the bed.

“Seriously, what’s going on here,” Stiles sounds a little freaked out, which is completely sensible, but at the same time he smells like contentment and even a bit like – could it possibly be? – _happiness_.

Derek shuffles a little closer, takes a good whiff. Jesus, he’s so out of his mind and he doesn’t even care anymore.

”Shut up,” Derek mumbles, wraps tired fingers around Stiles’ bloody shirt. “Take this off.”

Stiles has lost the ability to can. Derek huffs impatiently and takes the reigns. He sighs happily when Stiles is finally all bare and available for touching. Derek reaches over Stiles to turn off the lights, lets himself be surrounded by everything that is _Stiles._

”What are you doing,” Stiles whispers in the dark. He doesn’t sound scared, just fascinated. A little wishful.

”I don’t know,” Derek whispers right back. It sounds like a huge admission, which it _is_ , but Derek is quite done with being afraid of speaking up. He can do this, he’s a big boy now.

Stiles seems to mull over this for a second, God knows what’s going over his head, but in the end he seems pleased enough with the answer. ”Okay.” Stiles crawls a bit deeper into the bed, making a place for himself in this makeshift den they’ve somehow built over time.

”Yeah,” Derek nods. _This is only a necessity_ , he tells himself as he pulls at the covers to make sure Stiles is all covered and won’t get cold during the night. He tightens his hold on Stiles, plasters himself completely against his back.

Stiles lets out a blissful little sigh. Derek buries his nose in Stiles’ hair. Stiles reaches with his hand, wraps their fingers together like so many times before, but this time feels different, somehow. Snuggles impossibly close so that there’s not one single inch left between them.

“Tomorrow, let’s go to your bed,” Stiles says.

“Okay,” Derek answers.

_Necessity, my ass_ , Derek thinks. It’s not love, but maybe one day it has the possibility to be just that. Derek can’t wait.


End file.
